I am such a nerd: when I saw the photograph of the TRS-80, the first home computer of my childhood, a tear came to my eye.
Actually, this book provokes all sorts of funny feelings for me. The very existence of "vintage computers" -- collections of them, coffee table books about them, etc. -- proves that the rampant technofuturism that's outlined my entire adult life, aka The Computer Era, is now something we look back on fondly, like a high school yearbook. The Computer Era is over now, or at least we're over computers now. Finally. I just hope I can make the leap to whatever is next.
These photos document the birth of that era, and a visual aesthetic that came with it: an unconscious sense of "computers are modern, and modern looks like this!" It's amazing to see how far back certain design cliches began.
The other gorgeous thing about this book is, the earliest computers were entirely hand-made -- they're dripping with that gorgeous, elusive quality objects have when they've been the result of hard work. The photos of early core memory, for instance: a net of copper wire strung through with tiny ferrite beads, all by hand, looks like the work of a street-jeweler or an aged fisherman. I can't get enough of that sort of stuff. And yet this hand-made-ness was completely in conflict with the desired future-chic, so they hid it all away behind blinking lights and smooth, modern skin.
(I'm using "modern" in the sense of "modernism" here, not just in the sense of "new". Of course it's only in retrospect that we can begin to see the difference.)
The epic wiring, the smooth cabinetry and the carefully milled plastic labels on the knobs and buttons ... it all represents an immense amount of precise human labor, and the humans doing that labor, back in the day, were not third-world factory workers but engineers and students realizing their dreams, inventing and building strange, awkward new machines as if they were steam trains to the future.